Can there be a Christmas without you?
by thisisjustavoice
Summary: George has celebrated 19 Christmases with Fred, but will he ever be ready for the first one without him? Oneshot.


**A/N;** this is a Christmas oneshot I wrote last year in Swedish. This year, I decided to translate it into English, due to some unknown reason. Here's the result – Merry Christmas!

 **21st of December, 1998**

" **-and Fred's eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face."**

George woke up with a sudden jerk. It felt like someone had tied a rope around his neck and then pulled, with the effect of his lungs collapsing. He panted to retrieve his ability to breathe, and touched his own neck very carefully. There was no rope around it, of course. There hadn't been any rope around it yesterday either, but he'd still been woken up by the exact same feeling. He woke up every single morning with the same panicked feeling of being strangled.

It sounded like the subject of a tremendously boring poem, but for him, it was the truth.

George wrapped the green comforter tighter around himself, just to realise it was all damp from his own sweat. He didn't have the energy to care. The nightmares had haunted him all night and he felt much more tired now than when he fell asleep last night, but that wasn't very unusual. He couldn't even remember when he'd last slept the whole night through. If it wasn't the way too realistic nightmares it was the hopeless insomnia, the one that made him walk thousands of laps round the house, shivering, or spend hours at the window in Charlie's room, examining the stars without truly caring. Most times, he didn't even have the energy to step out of bed, and he spent the night staring at the ragged ceiling baulks. There were times when a spider or bug would appear, but except from those times, he could more or less describe those ceiling baulks - without fault - with his eyes closed by now. He knew every mark and bump in them by heart.

There were nightmares, or there were insomnia. There was no between and there was definitely no such thing as a good night's sleep.

Two sudden knocks at the door made him come back to reality. The room was light, so it was probably morning. He'd understood that much, but he hadn't thought much about the fact that he was expected to get up. It was a Saturday, which meant Angelina and Simon took care of the shop, which meant the challenge of a day without work awaited him. Which meant, it was up to him to find an occupation that distracted him from his own thoughts. Days in the shop was filled with work and easy to get through. Days without the shop was not.

"Yeah? I'm awake."

"So is everyone else, and if you don't grab breakfast in five minutes, there won't be any left. There's freshly baked saffron scones!" The end of the sentence was a bit unclear, since the person outside the door seemed busy digesting these scones.

"Thank you, Ron. It's okay, I'm not that hungry."

"Suit yourself." The stairway creaked as Ron went down to the kitchen again. George changed position, absentmindedly looking out of his window instead. He could see that the little snow that had been before had been swapped for a much thicker and whiter sort during the night. If his brain had had the ability to think such thoughts, he'd called it beautiful.

But nothing was beautiful without Fred, and the reminders about Christmas caused him nothing but pain, because he didn't want to celebrate it this year. George had celebrated nineteen Christmases with his brother, and he wasn't yet ready for the first one without him.

 **24st of December, 1981**

"Ready, Fred?" George reached for his brother's hand.

"Super-ready!" Fred grabbed it immediately, and with perfect synchronisation did they run through the Christmas-decorated living room, towards Ron who was currently watching the moving pictures of a children's book. And with a hasty move they attacked him from behind, making him fall face first on the carpet. A loud scream came as immediate response, and after that came the well-known cries of an infant.

"What's the matter, Ron?" Arthur came running with a sleeping Ginny in his arms. He did a quick scan of the situation, saw the two boys laughing while rolling around on the floor, and let out a deep sigh. "Fred and George, boys, please – it's Christmas. You have to behave, aunt Muriel will be here in just fifteen minutes." The end of the sentence made Ron kick up his cries a notch. Ginny squealed alarmingly in her father's arms.

"We didn't do nothing!" Fred said quickly, putting on a wide smile that George wasn't slow to copy.

"Nothing!" he agreed. "It's not our fault Ron can't keep his balance." For being two three year olds, both boys had an unusually clean and unusually developed speech. Three older brother can teach you some things, even if subconsciously. But Arthur was way too used to the twin's tricks to be impressed by such things. Seven kids makes you get used to all kinds of stuff.

"Could you be quieter? I'm reading", muttered Percy from the armchair where he sat with his legs crossed, reading.

"You're always reading", noted Fred. "Nerd!"

"Fred, it's enough." Arthur held up a hand to make them stop, but the impression didn't get any better by the fact that the hand had baby-puke on it. The twins frowned in a united movement, while their dad moved towards the bathroom to clean himself up. Ron had gotten tired of crying and fallen asleep in the way only one year olds can – on his stomach, with a children's book as pillow. A terribly simple mischief even for two three year olds, but it had worked without fault. George gave his brother an approving look, and they exchanged a high five.

The night before Christmas Day is seldom the night a three year old sleeps best, and George was no exception. He tossed and turned in what felt like an eternity, he made his pillows fluffier and changed sides on his comforter, he positioned his teddy bears at different places in his bed to see if he would sleep better with his feet on them. He read books without really seeing anything in the dark, he went to the bathroom, he drank glass and glass of water – but none of these methods had any effect.

The classical watch in the home of every wizard, with its stars and planets, sat on the wall taunting him. The movements of time passing shone in his face, refused to hide. It screamed out what time it was, screamed out that George had to fall asleep soon. If he didn't, maybe he wouldn't receive a gift in the sock he so carefully had hung on his bed. Now that was a thought that scared him to death –almost too scary to say out loud.

And just a metre away, in a child's bed identical to the one he slept in, he could hear Fred's calm breathing and distinguish a chest that was raised and lowered in a relaxed rhythm. Fred could sleep, so why couldn't he? Life was truly unfair, George thought as he carefully stepped out of his own bed and took the few steps to his brother's.

Fred's ginger strands of hair moved when the air from his exhalations reached them, and in his round face showed traces of a smile. George didn't know what his brother was dreaming about, but it seemed pleasing. He wanted to have that dream too. He wanted to know everything about what was going on in his brother's head. They were and would always be almost the same person, but dreams were an unexplored chapter. So far, the only unexplored chapter.

He gave Fred's a cheek a careful touch, a close to non-perceptible love explanation. An "I love you" that didn't need to be said out loud, but still meant exactly as much. Then he went back to his own bed.

And he must've fallen asleep, because the next time he woke up the room was light, and Fred was leaning over him, waving a knitted shirt in a blue nuance.

"Merry Christmas! We've got sweaters!" Fred offered a big smile and tossed George a soft package. "Open it!" George had no choice but to begin immediately. Christmas gifts were important things, even if he already knew what was inside. And just as Fred had told him, he found a knitted sweater inside, the exact same colour as Fred's – but this one had a G embroidered on it. He was just on his way to put on the sweater when it was snatched from him.

"What are you doing?" He watched his brother with confusion, but Fred only laughed and threw him the sweater he already held in his hand.

"I know a _great_ prank. You wear my shirt, and I wear yours, and we don't mention it to anybody." Fred smiled the mischievous smile George loved so much, the one that filled him with warmth and a sense of belonging. He answered with the exact same smile before he pulled the shirt with an F on over his head.

 **21st of December, 1989**

"We… shit… you a fucking Christmas, we … peeep you a fucking Christmas…" The empty armour started coughing alarmingly. It had been in perfect shape half an hour ago, newly polished and shining, but after a number of various song-related spells the armour's condition had changed slightly. Mysterious black spots had appeared here and there, and the Christmas carol that from the beginning had sounded well-pitched and melodic now sounded falser and sharper for every ugly word.

"This is really good!" George forced a smile, putting his hands over his ears. He'd barely spoken the words before a loud _bang_ was heard, and the armour fell apart in a big cloud of smoke. Fred started coughing violently.

"Quite successful to be the first try", he said with a hoarse voice when the coughing stopped. "But I think there's room for some improvements." He brushed away a little of the black powder the armour had exuded from his pants.

"We have six years", George reminded him. "Lots of time to improve the technique." Fred opened his mouth to answer, but before he had the chance to say anything another sound was heard – the sound of someone singing Christmas carols, loud and happy – but very false. Nothing wrong with that, but unfortunately, Fred and George recognized this singing voice. It belonged to Peeves, the school's chaos-loving poltergeist, who indeed was a perfect victim for various shenanigans, but also liked to get you in trouble in any way possible.

"Run", George mimed and grabbed his brother's hand. They'd just prepared to get running when the carol quietened and Peeves himself joined them.

"Oooohhh! I see two naughty kids!" Peeves had a happy grin on his lips. "I see you broke something again! Shame if anyone got to know!" The poltergeist chuckled and let out a loud whistle. "Filch-fart! Filchy! I found naughty kids!"

"Students out of bed?" roared Argus, just a corridor away. The twins stood like statues, too chocked having been discovered to move.

"Even better! They broke something!"

"I don't believe you, you sluggish wastrel, you're just trying to get away yourself…" The old caretaker's voice came closer and closer, entering the corridor where the twins stood stupefied. At first his expression seemed only chocked that Peeves was telling the truth, but then he smiled contemptuously. "Aha… I see…"

"Run run run", muttered George, and soon both twins was released from their petrification. They ran at maximum speed, which was quite high – that's what happens when you have to learn to run from the proof of your pranks very early in your life. Filch came after, the tip of his Santa hat following. The race through Hogwarts decorated corridors seemed to a beginning to be won by the Weasley twins, but Filch wasn't the type who gave up quickly. Then George was hit by a great idea, making him quit the run abruptly.

"Aguamenti!" A ray of cold water flew out from his wand, hitting Filch in the face.

"Aguamenti!" Fred did the same thing, and they watched the caretaker frown from the icy water. They stood there for a short moment, and then they continued the run – Filch now a great distance after them, thanks to the chock they'd given him.

When they finally stopped, they'd run all the way to Gryffindor's common room. After whispering "Candy cane" to the Fat Lady, they collapsed in a sofa in front of the fire.

"Merry Christmas", panted Fred. "Well done."

"Same to you", said Fred with a smile. "Merry Christmas."

There were three days left before Christmas Day, and tomorrow, they would take the train home to celebrate Christmas in the Burrow. They had had a great first term at Hogwarts, if you saw to the number of remarkable pranks and interesting discoveries and not to the grades. There were many more Christmases to come, many more Christmases in each other's company, and it was such an obvious fact they didn't even think about how much they appreciated it.

 **24st of December, 1997**

The turkey was dry.

It may not have sounded very unusual, not even something you reflected over that much, but for the Weasley family, it was. Molly Weasley had given birth to seven kids and taken care of the whole household, slept roughly an hour per night some Christmases, taken care of snotty noses and screaming kids while at the stove, but she'd never put a dry turkey on the table when Christmas Day arrived.

Until today, that was.

"This was really good, Molly." Arthur swallowed hard and gave his wife a smile that probably was supposed to be thankful, but mostly shone of sadness. On a normal Christmas, he probably would've received a wide smile and a Thank you, but this Christmas was no normal Christmas and the only answer he got was a quiet nod. Fred and George exchanged meaning glances under silence. Molly had barely touched her food, and not one person round the table showed much of an appetite. There was normally never silent round the table when the Weasley family ate, but this Christmas wasn't like any other Christmas they had.

Even when Arthur had gotten attacked by a snake and spent the Christmas at , they managed to have a pretty good Christmas spirit thanks to the Order of the Phoenix. But this time, it didn't seem to work, and they weren't the only ones feeling that way. The whole country was affected by the gloomy spirit that came from constantly living under threats from He-who-must-not-be-named and his army. Christmas didn't seem nearly as important as usual. People were too busy hiding, surviving, to have time for a proper celebration.

"A game of Exploding Snap, perhaps?" Fred proposed when no one even bothered to touch their plate anymore. Aunt Muriel gave him a disgruntled look, but he ignored it.

"I'm fine, thank you." Arthur shook his head. "Maybe you and George can play with Ginny?"

"Absolutely." Ginny's answer came immediately, as if to hide the depressing fact that there were no other siblings left to play with. Charlie preferred the somewhat safer Romania, this was the third Christmas they celebrated without Percy, Bill had asked that he and Fleur could celebrate their first Christmas a married couple to themselves – George suspected it included a lot of snogging and making out, and they all knew, even if the adults refused to say it out loud, that Ron was with Harry and Hermione. The number of people they missed was bigger than the number of people actually there.

"I miss Ron's pathetic worthlessness at Exploding Snap", said George when they after a very even game declared Fred as the winner. "No one can scream as much over a game like he can."

"Don't get all emotional now, I get nauseous." Fred tried a cheerful smile, but the honesty in his voice was missing and his smile was weak.

"Ron would scream, Harry would look overly focused and struggle to understand the rules through the whole game, Hermione would sit in an armchair with a book and roll her eyes." Ginny sighed and leaned back in Muriel's pink couch. "This isn't right, it just isn't." She looked out of the window, suddenly absentminded. The snowflakes where whirling around in circles, not caring the slightest about missing friends and family members. The white snow decorated both trees and the ground outside, and the whole world looked like a Christmas card, but it didn't help the slightest. Nothing helped with the fear that had spread all over the country.

Fred's hand searched for George's under the couch table, and he took it. No words was needed to be said out loud, because they both knew that they felt the same way.

It was still okay, because they had each other. There was an F on George's sweater and a G on Fred's, and they had each other.

As long as they had each other, everything would be fine.

 **21** **st** **of December, 1998**

"George." There was somebody on the other side of the door once again, someone who knocked with a great deal of determination. "Please. Come out."

"I don't want to, Ginny. You can go", he answered. But Ginny had never been the kind of person to follow orders she disliked, so George wasn't very surprised when the door was opened and the room's population got twice as big.

"Andromeda and Teddy are on their way."

"That's got nothing to do with me." He could hear how grumpy he sounded, but he didn't care.

"Stop it!" Ginny raised her voice, enough to make him flinch. "I know, George. I know it's awful, but…"

"You don't know _anything_."

" _You don't know what I know_! You're not the only one missing him! You're not the only one crying every night, you're not the only one dreading to celebrate Christmas without him!" She took a deep breath. "But it will _never_ get better by you spending Christmas alone in this room, refusing to come out. Never."

"I don't want to celebrate Christmas without him!" exclaimed George in a wailing voice that surprised even him. "I've celebrated nineteen Christmases with him and I don't want to celebrate the first one without him, I don't want to, I can't!" He heard the tears in his own voice, and was disgusted by them. He sounded so pathetic, but then again, he felt pathetic, so maybe it didn't matter.

"There's no one else that can do it either", said Ginny after a moment's silence. She shrugged her shoulders, making her neat ponytail jump to the side. "But it works. In some way, it'll work."

"How do you know?"

"Because I still wake up every morning, even if I sometimes believes I'll die in my sleep because of grief." She wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye. "I know it's possible, because I find myself laughing at jokes even though I swore I would never laugh again. I know it's possible, because I know Fred would kill me if I _didn't_ laugh."

"He would've hated it", said George, so quietly it was barely audible. "He would've hated seeing me like this."

"If! He'd wanted to beat you up!" Ginny laughed. "So, please. Come down and have breakfast. I miss you when you're not there. I've already lost one brother – I could never, ever, deal with another one.

"I'm sorry." George sighed deeply. "I'm coming."

"I'm waiting", said Ginny. Then she left, and he saw only the back of her as she skipped down the stairs with the skilful movements only a really good athlete can show up in their everyday life.

It was very reluctantly that he pulled his comforter off, but he couldn't deal with making Ginny disappointed, so he got out of bed before he had the time to change his mind. The snow was falling outside once again, small white flakes descending, and the sun had arrived to give them for the winter so unusual light.

He would've called it beautiful every Christmas until today.

He should be able to call it beautiful this Christmas.

He would try, for Fred.

The white flakes continued their descent, one by one, and as he viewed it through the kitchen windows, small-talking with Harry and with a laughing Teddy in his lap, he had to admit to himself that it was beautiful.

It was beautiful until a hexed snowball flew in through the window, hitting him square in the face.


End file.
